My mother had had enough. She was sick of me and my brother fighting, and not getting ready for school. So without delay, she launched down the hallway to our rooms. The determined pounding of her feet let us know her last nerve had been frayed and we were on her “list”.
Photo Credit Free-Photos
A quick side note. I had a very active imagination as a child. I loved to read books late into the night. In fact, I positioned my bed right up against the door to my room. This way I could lean out of my bed and catch the nightlight from the hallway! HA! And, I could hear if anyone approached from either way. If I did hear someone, then I could stealthily slide my book under the top cover and feign sleep. The next paragraphs are dedicated to my childhood imagination, groomed by years of the late night reading.
Today there was no hiding! We did not have Mary Poppins making her way up the hall, no sir! This was a Momster (mom and monster)! A sleep-deprived infant toting toddler dragging mother, who was about to channel her inner ugly mother and my brother and I were public enemy number one.
If I Have To Tell You One More Time
Photo Credit Free-Photos
She stood between our rooms, her eyes darting back and forth between me and my brother, me and my brother. With teeth gritted, eyebrows raise she said “GET. DRESSED.” “GET. YOUR. SCHOOL BOOKS.” “PUT. ON. YOUR. COATS. AND GET. TO THE BUS!” The “get’s” had their g’s and t’s emphasized, and the s’s had serpentine tones. This exchange assertively delivered while burping my infant sister and assuring my toddler brother that his breakfast was coming.
If smoke could have rolled up from underneath mom it would have. As well as the gates of Hades open wide to receive the world’s most bickering brother-sister duo.
As quickly as she appeared, she had gone back down the hallway. Cooing to my infant sister with my little brother scurrying alongside. I glanced again to see the gate of Hades close and the smoke retreat back with it. Phew!
I thought of asking if a breakfast invitation was included before our departure, but thought better of it. Frantically I grabbed my clothes and put them on, tied my shoes and began fretting that I was going to miss breakfast. I NEVER missed breakfast. This was a first for breakfast withholding punishment.
This is the part where you leave
My brother finished dressing and met me in the hall. I whispered that we should not worry about the ceremony of brushing teeth. He was in total agreement, he hated brushing teeth. So we walked together to the kitchen where mom was busy with breakfast for my younger brother.
A quick glance from her told us she was not budging. There was no invite to the breakfast table. With a sweep of her hand, she told us to get out and get to the bus. We hesitated knowing it was Wednesday. On Wednesdays, she always gave us 50 cents before leaving the house so we could buy a treat at the store on the way home after school.
Mom made no further eye contact. So with slumped shoulders and lowered heads, we walked into the foyer and grabbed our coats. As I reached for the doorknob and glanced at the ledge by the door I spied our money for treats. OH JOY! Wait… how was this possible? She must have left us money before our rivalry ruckus. A little light of heaven shown upon us at that moment.
We greedily grabbed our money and made our way out the door, down the street, and to the store. Walking up to the goodie shelf we scanned them for something breakfast like, and there it was. The Hostess Honey Bun. A taste of Hostess baked delight. This was a small, cinnamon type roll with a good coating of frosting immortalized on top. We knew we struck gold.
Glancing at the clock in the store we knew we had about two minutes to skedaddle or we would miss the bus. We paid the clerk and quickly made our way out the door. A short stop at the trash can to remove the cellophane wrapper was all that stood between us and breakfast. We bit into the Honey Bun and relished every bite. Between bites, my brother and I discussed our luck in having our treat money waiting by the door.
The ride on the bus to school went fairly well. The delicious, but sugary Honey Bun left us thirsty. By the time we arrived at school we both made a bee-line for the bubbler (that’s Wisconsin talk for water fountain we can discuss this regional term some other time) and drank like camels. We parted company and headed for our classrooms.
The ride home on the bus was uneventful, perhaps more reflective than anything. I started feeling really guilty about ruining her day with our bickering. My mom was a busy mom. She basically had two families. My brother and I were born in 1971 and 1972. Then she took a 9-year hiatus. Second thought… I would say she had a TOTAL lapse of memory and found herself right back at square one with additions in 1979 and 1980. After that, she made sure the production line was shut down permanently.
Hopping off the bus we made the trek back home. My brother and I walked into the house somewhat cautiously but were greeted by our mom with a warm smile. We even got a hug. When she asked how our morning went I stated ( I was the reporter/informer) that because she had left us money on the ledge by the door, for an after-school treat, we simply did the reverse and treated ourselves to a Honey Bun breakfast instead. To which she raised her eyebrows and just said “Mmm.” I was never really sure what her “Mmm” meant. I’d like to think the “Momster” got a guilty conscious about sending her children off with no food. A Friesland Hansel and Gretel, if you would. So she left us the money to ease her conscious.
Just in case all this talk of Honey Bun has you hungry, they still make them! I have yet to find a local store who has them, but you can ask your local grocer if they are able to order them or Amazon.com has them available also.
Similar Posts by Author:
- Blended Family LinkUp: The 21st Century Family
- The Joy of Scaring My Brother
- A Random Note at My Door
- The Cold Roast Beef Sandwich
- Kitchen Cat-astrophes
Michele Bruxvoort is sure to draw you in with her delightful sense of humor and love for living life. She enjoys reading, repurposing, as well as remodeling the family home with her husband. Drawing from her life experience as wife, mom, and follower of Jesus, Michele brings you a very honest and real perspective on life. When you don’t find her writing, you can find her mowing lawns, stocking shelves, and tackling her latest life adventure.
Wisconsin native and empty-nester, she now makes her home with her husband of 26 years in the South West Prairie plains of Minnesota.